"
"What flag?"
"The flag in my compound."
"Can you see your home from here?"
"Yes; there's a ledge on the cliff that gives a direct view."
"I want to come up and see it."
"You can't. It's much too hard a climb. Besides, there are rock
devilkins on the way."
"And when you hear a shot, you go up there for messages?"
"Yes; it's my telephone system."
"Who's at the other end?"
"The peon who pretends to look after the quinta for me."
"A man! No man can keep a house fit to live in," she said
scornfully.
"I know it; but he's all I've got in the servant line."
"How far is the house from here?"
"A mile, by air. Seven by trail from town."
"Isn't it lonely?"
"Yes."
Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet,
conclusive acceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable.
"How soon must you go back?"
"Oh, not for an hour, at least."
"If it's a call, it must be an important one, so far from
civilization."
"Not necessarily. Don't you ever have calls that are not
important?"
No answer came.
"Miss Brewster!" he called. "Oh, Voice! You haven't gone?"
Still no response.
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